


A Question From Hyrule

by Donnieambie_Dawn



Category: Linked Universe - Fandom, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Borderline crack, Gen, Hyrule (Linked Universe) is a Little Shit, I wrote this in an hour, Wild (Linked Universe) is a Little Shit, Wild being Wild, i cant believe theres a tag for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:47:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27987945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donnieambie_Dawn/pseuds/Donnieambie_Dawn
Summary: It begins with a question from Hyrule.A curt, “Don’t you care about your, y’know? Scars?” at the communal dinner-log as he’s dishing out mushrooms and rice.If Wild was a straight man he would’ve answered with a “No, I don’t.” But sadly, Wild is very very wiggly, and must make his answers very wiggly to match.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 184





	A Question From Hyrule

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragon_of_Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_of_Dreams/gifts).



> Hi Suri! FCgvhjnkml I know you're not the biggest fan in the world of crack but I wanted to surprise you with humor :D I hope this fic is lightly amusing dfghjk <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3  
> _________________________________________________________________________  
> Tested as a lw on the lu discord server so thank yall for the feedback :)  
> _________________________________________________________________________

It begins with a question from Hyrule. 

A curt, “Don’t you care about your, y’know? Scars?” at the communal dinner-log as he’s dishing out mushrooms and rice. 

If Wild was a straight man he would’ve answered with a “ _No, I don’t._ ” But sadly, Wild is very very wiggly, and must make his answers very wiggly to match. It’s basic common sense.

  
  
“What scars?” He says curiously as he hands Wind some pot-scraping seconds.

  
  
And if the initial question wasn’t enough to garner everyone’s attention, his response _certainly_ is, because from every corner of camp he catches eyes unlooking and ears turned to eavesdrop. Good. He’s going to give them dinner and a show!

  
  
“The scars on your left?” Hyrule says, doubting himself already. Hylia help them if he doesn’t know what left is. “I know how hard it can be to live with something so. . . recognizable.”

  
  
Wild hums in thought. Yes, he has his scars to thank for the countless attacks he’s gone through as a fresh-soul, when he was roaming the great greens and whites and didn’t know much about anything, let alone the new pain of being _hunted._

 _  
__  
_But then again, The Yiga were a bunch of incompetent assholes that couldn’t take a hit to the collarbone without folding like soggy origami, and he likes to think that they singlehandedly funded his whole adventure. Now that he thinks about it, he even ate some of their bananas before fighting Ganon. What was he talking about? His appearance? Oh, right,

  
  
“I’m a blue eyed, blonde haired hylian. I think people would forget I existed if I didn’t have these,” he says flatly, gesturing to his face.

  
  
People are staring at him dumbstruck, because the Links may be roughly uneducated, but they’re country for the most part; they know how genetics work. Wild can see the dust billow from their brains as they try to imagine a world where the features of the legendary hero are considered plain. Have these boys ever looked out a window? The blue blond combo is a strikingly hot order at the baby factory, and hoo boy was he mass produced for soldierdom. He continues his spiel: 

“It’s probably because I have a tendency to disappear into the woods for months at a time.” He adds after a pause, “No one remembers ‘Link No-Last-Name’ _,_ but everyone can get a general idea of, ‘The Vengeful Spirit of The Hero, Gold and Blood.”

  
  
Time gives wild a raised eyebrow and lowly rumbles, “Spirit of Gold and Blood?”

  
  
“I’m not, but don’t tell anyone. I’ve got people setting up shrines for me in Gerudo! _shrines!_ ”

  
  
Everyone ignores the “vengeful” twist to his title, because they’ve been living with him for a good three months and _they know now._

  
  
“The gerudo aren’t remotely religious.” Time grumbles, trying to crawl out of the rapidly sinking hole that is the bullshit Wild is spewing.

  
  
“I kill a molduga for them every month and leave sapphires on their border walls. I don’t know if they actually think I’m a spirit, but hey- free arrows are free arrows- and the statue of me is quite flattering.”

  
  
Time presses his palms together and puts them to his forehead, pointer against bridge in preperation for the inevitable migraine this conversation is going to give him. From the other side of camp, Wind fails at keeping his mouth shut.

“Why Gold and Blood?”

  
  
Wild tries to suppress his shit eating grin. “I am the sole proprietor of the economy and the army.”

  
  
He guesses he must’ve failed to hide his smile, because everyone around him is cringing away from his sunny gaze like a dehydrated korok. His smile is ugly, sue him, blame the scars.

  
  
“You know that clears up nothing, right?” Warriors joins in, probably because he heard the word “army” and his brain short circuited in an attempt to insert himself into the conversation. “It can’t be that bad.”

  
  
Listen, Wild’s Hyrule isn’t a good place to be if you want money, or stability, or the ability to live past thirty-five. The motto of the shield surfers crazy enough to camp in Central is literally “Live, love, die young,” and they have at least 5 campfire songs where the line was shoehorned in as a lyric. All in all, it's a good time- but only because Wild will bite Hylia if he ever sees her anywhere that isn't a fane. He hopes the lingering threat of every forest disease Wild has ever gotten is enough to curb divine intervention.

  
  
“The monarchy is dead and no one wants to reinstate it, Zelda _especially_ . Everyone’s too busy fighting for their lives in travel camps and trying to eat at least twice a week. I’m pretty sure the gorons have a monopoly on _something,_ the bastards, but at least the gerudo _pretend_ to contribute to hylian welfare.”

  
  
“What do you mean, Wild? When you say the monarchy is dead.” Sky looks at him with wide, glossy eyes. “Dead how?”

Wild relaxes his face and downturns his lips, settling his gaze on the ground with the most serious air he can muster, though he can feel his composure slipping with a snicker. Quick, don’t think about Zelda’s freakout- uh, calamity, eternal death, the champions fate.

“I tried to save it. . . but Zelda, she- she got to it first.” He takes in a shuddery, wet breath, “Took the sheikah slate right out of my hands and make a mad, explosion filled dash to the castle walls, yelling something about ‘being trapped for a hundred fucking years’ and ‘not fucking dealing with her father’s shit problems’ and ‘fuck this, she’s becoming a researcher in the countryside and leaving the government to die, because if its already survived a hundred years without her, it can survive a few months more.”

  
  
Wild shrugs. “Which is basically the same excuse I had for not saving Zelda straight away, so I just let her go do her own thing. I’m not in charge of her anymore, there’s no law to hold me in place. I’m free and no one alive has the power to arrest me.”

  
  
Wild pauses to contemplate his life, or what little he can remember of it.

  
  
“Besides, she looked positively murderous, and if she ever finds out that I can still come back from the dead, I fear for my safety.” Wild’s eyes blur, “Oh, no, if _Purah_ finds out-” He sets his heads in his hands, looking every bit the dumbass, war filled teenager he is. “You guys, I do not want to explode.”

  
  
“Could’ve _fooled_ me!” Legend screams like he’s just gotten stabbed. Maybe he has. It’s always a tossup with the Links.

  
  
“There will be no explosions.” Time puts a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, rubbing small circles into the fabric in a stop-start motion. It looks every part like he’s petting a cold fish that Wild scrounged up from the pits of a forgotten lake. Time just wants to go to bed, at this point. He’s tired, everyone is tired- no wait, Hyrule looks confused, wait no don’t ask-

  
  
“So you _don’t_ mind your scars?” Hyrule asks in a rising tone.

  
  
Wild deadpans. “I have literally never had a time in my life where I don’t remember having them.”

  
  
“Memories?”

  
  
“I have phantom scars in them. It’s weird.”

  
  
“Huh.” Hyrule gives a blank stare, like the singular braincell that he usually uses for navigation is all dried out and shrivelled. “Makes sense.” He says, giving Wild one last size-up before going to bed.

  
  
And when all eyes are off of him and in their bedrolls, Wild smirks, because if there's one thing he’s getting good at (other than self-necromancy,) it's gotta be improv.

  
  
Twenty minutes later, Hyrule cracks an eye open and reaches to take the silver rupee. “I’m choosing the question next.” He whispers with promise for a shitshow. “Goodnight. . . Oh, and t’mmorow I want you to lay low for a bit.”

Hyrule smirks and recloses his eyes. “I’ll show you how it’s _really_ done.”


End file.
